Page 1 of The Vanished Bennet Sister

Chapter One

Elizabeth

London, Portman Square. January 1811

"I have never seen ceilings like this in my life!" Mrs Bennet exclaimed.

She was not wrong. Elizabeth, two steps behind her on the black-and-white marble floor, looked up. The plasterwork ran in neat acanthus borders around a central medallion, the detail crisp and well-maintained. The staircase rose in a generous sweep of iron and mahogany and the windows at the far end of the hall admitted a pale January light that fell across the tiles in long, silver rectangles. It was a beautiful house. There was no disputing that.

Mrs Bennet had already moved onwards, her exclamations preceding her through each doorway. The footman who admitted them and the housemaids who helped carry their belongings in had plain expressions that suggested they were accustomed to such reactions.

"A fireplace of Italian marble!" Mrs Bennet called from the drawing room. "Girls, come and look at this fireplace."

Lydia was already past the drawing room and could be heard from somewhere further along the corridor. "The dining room has a rather splendid chandelier. Kitty, you must see it immediately."

"I am much too preoccupied with the staircase," Kitty called back. "The bannister alone must have cost a fortune."

"Never mind the bannister, there is a much fancier chandelier!"

The townhouse belonged to Mr Lewis Thwaite, a wealthy gentleman who resided in London. And who happened to be courting Elizabeth’s sister, Mary. Much to everyone’s surprise, the middle Bennet sister had managed to find herself a gentleman who was not only affable, but rich to boot. The relationship between Mary and Mr Thwaite had begun three months earlier, when Mary had departed Hertfordshire to visit the Gardiners in London for a week. Mr Thwaite had visited Uncle Gardiner to discuss business matters and was directed to the parlour where Mary was sitting with a volume of music theory.

What followed, according to Mary’s account, was a lengthy conversation which included a detailed account of Mr Thwaite's views on the relationship between sacred music and theology. At the end of it all, he had expressed his interest in Mary’s opinions and asked whether he might write – by way of Mrs Bennet, of course, as it would have been improper to do so otherwise.

The subsequent months of letters between Mary and Mr Thwaite further deepened their relationship. He had come to call on the family the month prior and following the visit, his intentions towards Mary had been quite clear.

Soon thereafter, the gentleman had written to offer up his secondary townhouse for the Bennets use for the season.

Without the invitation, it would be nearly impossible for the family to remain in London long enough for the Bennet daughters to socialise and secure suitable matches. The burden of arranging for housing would simply be too great. Thus, Mrs Bennet had said yes to the offer before Mr Bennet finished reading the letter aloud.

By any rational account, it was an extraordinary act of generosity from a man whose acquaintance with the Bennets barely spanned a quarter year. Elizabeth had said as much to Jane on the road from Hertfordshire, watching the flat fields dart by, and Jane had replied that Mr Thwaite seemed to be a man of remarkable kindness.

Which was one way of putting it.

What their mother chose to call it was a stroke of fortune so perfectly deserved that it required no further explanation. Mrs Bennet had already informed three separate acquaintances of their new direction, describing the house in vague terms that suggested she had lived in it for years, and declining, with an airy wave, to mention whose name appeared on the deed. It was, she seemed to feel, an irrelevant detail.

Elizabeth had decided, somewhere north of their journey to London, that this point of view was not worth fighting against.

"There’s a lovely music room with a Broadwood grand," Mary said, appearing at the entrance to the drawing room.

Lydia came to stand next to Mary. "Lovely. Is there a ballroom?”

"There is not. Private ballrooms are incredibly rare."

"Then I don’t care about the music hall."

"We shall be very well dressed within the week," Kitty said, crossing over to the window. "There is a milliner's I can see from here."

"The shops on Bond Street are what I wish to see. Mama says the gloves alone are worth the journey from Hertfordshire."

"Don’t forget the assembly rooms, Lydia, or the plays. And the parks! One is always meeting people in the parks. We must go promenading post haste."

Whatever reply Lydia was about to make was lost under Mrs Bennet’s renewed exclamation over an antique item. Jane turned to Elizabeth with an expression of pleasure, which she often wore during happy moments and Elizabeth’s lips, in return, curved in a slight, reassuring smile.

She had come to London for Jane, partly. She had also come to keep her mother's more ambitious impulses from producing consequences that would outlast the season. And, if she was honest with herself, the fact that she was twenty and had never participated in the season, made the invitation irresistible.

Their father, of course, had remained at Longbourn. He had seen them off from the door joyfully. Elizabeth suspected he was, at this very moment, settled in his library with the fire built high and the house blissfully silent.

She did not begrudge him it. She was rather envious.